


Return to Camelot.

by Spannah339



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sadness, Spoilers, enjoy, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spannah339/pseuds/Spannah339
Summary: Basically what it says on the tin. Also feels.





	

  The trek back to Camelot was the longest journey Merlin had ever walked. The loneliest trip he had taken.   
  
  In reality, it only took him a few days, but each time he lifted his foot he felt years had passed before he placed it down again.

 

  He tried to sleep the first night, but as he lay on the forest floor, staring up at the trees above him he couldn’t sleep. All he could think of was Arthur, he best friend – a brother – lying limp on the boat as it drifted out into the mists of the lake. All he could see was Arthur lying in his arms, completely still. Arthur, finally thanking him with his last breath.

 

  Finally, he gave up at about midnight, clambering to his feet and moving forward again. He forced his way through the night, not noticing the branches and thorns grabbing at his clothes as he pushed his way through the trees. He wasn’t thinking about where he was going, his feet automatically heading towards home. Deep down, part of him thought that if he could make it back to Camelot, if he could step into the palace, Arthur would be there to welcome him home. He had to be.

 

  But even deeper down he knew his king – his friend – was dead. An ache formed in his heart, an ache for the loss of a friend.

 

 Suddenly, he was angry. Angry at Morgana for turning evil, angry at Uther for causing her to, angry at Mordred for striking the fatal blow, angry at Gaius for not being able to save Arthur, angry at the dragon for not coming in time, angry at himself for not being able to do enough; even angry at Arthur for dying.

  
 He let out a scream of rage and grief, not caring if he was heard, not caring that there were bandits in the forest. In fact, he would almost welcome bandits at the moment.

 

   The bandits he wished for didn’t come until the morning. He hadn’t stop since he had tried to sleep, just stepping one foot in front of the other, not noticing how tired he was.

 

  The bandits surrounded him before he even registered they were there. Merlin continued walking, almost colliding with their leader. With a shove, he was thrown to the ground, his head colliding with a tree root.

 

  “What’re you doin’ here?” the man who had pushed him demanded.   
  
  Merlin blinked, his vision blurred because of the collision. Once he had regained focus, he scowled.   
  
  “What are you doing here?” his voice sounded dry and rough – he hadn’t used it for a long time – except for screaming his grief.

 

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions,” the bandit growled.   
  
  “I think you should leave before I kill you all,” Merlin retorted, struggling to his feet.

 

  “What is a weakling like you going to do to us?”

  
  “You want to find out?”

 

  It seemed the bandit did. He gestured slightly with his hand, and a group of the bandits marched forward.

 

  Merlin didn’t even turn to face them. His eyes flashed gold and they were thrown back.

 

  The rest of the bandits murmured uncertainly, the leader stepping back slightly.

  
  “Sorcery,” he hissed. “The king might pay to have a sorcerer delivered to him.” He smirked, moving forward.   
  
  The king. The king was dead. Merlin let out a bellow, releasing all his grief and anger into his magic as he flung the bandits away from him.   
  
  They lay on the ground – dead or unconscious Merlin didn’t care. He began his journey again, stepping over the leader of the bandits.

 

  “The king already knows,” he hissed, his voice full of pain.

 

 He didn’t feel the pain on the back of his head where he had hit the tree root, didn’t care there was blood dripping down his neck. He just wanted to get home, because surely Arthur would be waiting for him at Camelot. Surely!

 

  He continued walking all day, and all through the night. He didn’t stop once, and when he fell he just picked himself up again. He was covered with cuts and bruises and any other man would have collapsed through exhaustion if they walked for as long as he did.

 

   Finally, the city came into view. Merlin paused only briefly to survey it, remembering a time when he had first come here before, many years ago, just a young man with nothing to him but the clothes on his back and a small pack. Now he had gained so much – friends as good as any family, a purpose in life – but he had also lost much.

  
  Suddenly he wondered if it was a good idea to enter the palace. Gwen would be waiting, and he didn’t want to be the one to deliver the bad news.   
  
  But Arthur would be there as well. Of course he would be, where else would he be. Certainly not dead.

 

  So he continued moving, oblivious to all pain.

 

 Sir Leon was the first to reach him when he stumbled into the courtyard.   
  
  “Merlin!” he cried, rushing towards the young man, his cloak flapping behind him. “What happened? Where’s Arthur?”

 

  Arthur was here, wasn’t he? But as Leon’s words registered in his mind, he realised it was foolish to believe his friend would be waiting for him. He didn’t say anything in reply, just looked down at the cobblestones beneath his feet.

 

   He felt Leon moving him forward, but he barely registered that his feet had moved. A flicker of movement on the palace steps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Gwen rushing down, her face full of worry.

 

  The courtyard began to fill, knights and servants all wanting to know what had happened to their king. But Merlin could only see Guinevere as she rushed towards him. He could tell she knew why he was alone – there was only one reason.

 

   “Merlin?” Her voice was full of pleading, as if he could bring Arthur back. He wanted to shout, wanted to tell her that he would give anything to bring his best friend back. He wanted to tell her how he had died in his arms, content that the kingdom was safe in her hands. He wanted to tell her how Arthur knew he had magic. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. But he only managed to gasp out three words.   
  
  “I failed him.”

 

  Gwen’s hands covered her face, and she let out a sob. Merlin barely registered Gaius standing beside her, the knights murmuring around him, the absence of  Gwaine.

 

   The three words spun around his head as the courtyard blurred and spun. _I failed him. I failed him. I failed him._ His head was aching, and he didn’t feel anything.   
  
  _I failed him. I failed him. Failed. Failed. Failed._  
  
  Finally, he collapsed, overcome by exhaustion. The world became black and he welcomed it.

 


End file.
